Watching cherry blossoms fall

They lie there. Their faces turned towards a sky they can no longer see. The silence sounds louder than our war cries of yesterday.

A gentle breeze carries a flower to my hand. I watch it settle, fragile and perfect. As was their loyalty.

Victory. The word on my tongue is ashes and dust but still echoes in my empty chest.

The cherry tree will continue to blossom. The seasons will continue to turn. The emperors will reign.

And I will continue to stand here, at the junction of what was and what will be no more.

A drop slides down my face. Rain, no doubt.